


A Whole New World

by Daegaer



Category: Fix Bay'nets - George Manville Fenn, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Demons, Gen, Mars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2020-06-25 09:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale on Victorian Mars.





	A Whole New World

It was not, Crowley thought, that he had considered that Mars should in any way exceed Earth in his consideration, for his fondness for the world on which he had been stationed was beyond question, but that he should find at least some pleasure in the sights and sounds of Mars – a hope that was dashed time and again. He had thought himself used to heat, being a denizen of the infernal realms and a cold-blooded one to boot, yet he found the heat of the red world he now visited almost intolerable and was forced to own that he had, during his centuries of living in Britain, acclimatised to a far more temperate and wetter clime. On top of that, his attempts to at least venture out and see the sights and peoples of the city of New London were thwarted by the continual complaints of his travelling companion.

"Are you or are you not a creature of the spiritual realm, like me?" he exclaimed in irritation, finding requests for rest and refreshment being directed his way less than ten minutes after setting forth from the hotel. He had barely begun to enjoy the sights of the park, an extravagant and uncannily green space in the midst of all the red. The cost of the water pumped from the canal, and the continually replenished flowerbeds had to be exceedingly wasteful, he thought approvingly. He looked upon the roses and sighed, thinking how like England it seemed, just for the barest of moments.

"Not precisely like you, one should hope," muttered Aziraphale. "Do let's stop for a drink, dear boy."

"It is _eleven o'clock_ ," hissed Crowley, feeling vaguely ashamed that it was left to him to draw attention to the customs of polite society. "One cannot start drinking at such an early hour."

"A cooling drink of orange juice," pleaded Aziraphale. "What harm can it do?"

"Anyone would think you kept me from doing my work by means of your continual needs and desires to which it seems I must attend," grumbled Crowley, leading the way to a café located on the outskirts of the park that promised the coldest of draughts of that sun-coloured liquid. It was charming, he thought, how well the orange trees took to their new world, unlike the English flowers that needed to be replaced so often, and how eager that world's colonisers were to pay for the drink they could have enjoyed for free, had they overcome their manners and plucked the fruit from the bough as they strolled beneath the trees' shade.

"Keep you from your work?" said Aziraphale in surprise. "Dear me, no. I am simply thirsty."

Crowley pushed his spectacles of smoked glass further up his nose, hiding his eyes from the sun's harsh rays. Tomorrow was another day, he thought. Sooner or later he had to be able to go out without Aziraphale accompanying him. In the mean time, a glass of orange juice _did_ sound like the most wonderful idea.


End file.
